She felt his eyes on her as she walked to the door and let herself out. Fortunately, there were no servants to witness her leave the drawing room, and she hurried to the solar where Henrietta awaited her. His face never left her mind’s eye – his almost perfect manly features, his broad shoulders, the scent he used after he had bathed and shaved.
Sandalwood.
Even as she greeted Henrietta and Rosemary, and began the day’s lessons, the Duke’s face followed her everywhere. It distracted her when she needed her mind on her charge, and often caused her to stumble over her tongue. Even Rosemary glanced up from her embroidery to send her puzzled glances. Yet, there had been something different about the Duke that morning, and she could not put her finger on what it was.
Late in the afternoon, as she wrapped up the day’s teaching and praised Henrietta for her efforts, the answer struck her. His Grace behaved almost as if she was his equal. His expression had been more open, more trusting, as though he saw her—Lucretia Brent—not his sister’s governess. That he treated her as a companion, not a servant. The realization stopped her in her tracks.
“Luce?”
Lucretia blinked. “Oh, yes, I am coming.”
Ushering Henrietta out of the solar with Rosemary behind them, she wondered if she had imagined things. Perhaps I did, for why would the Duke look at me as though he wanted to kiss me?
* * *
The next few days passed without the Duke mentioning teaching Lucretia how to shoot a pistol again, yet there was no further talk of night intruders, either. Lucretia wondered if perhaps the crisis had ended, and the assassin, or his employer, had decided it too risky to continue trying to kill the Duke and his sister. Once, she caught Henrietta attempting a middle of the night excursion around the house, and set her to playing chess by herself.
Then one afternoon, as Henrietta played in the garden under Lucretia’s watchful eye, the Duke escorted his friends, Lord Egerton and Lord Gillinghamshire, to the road where they waved goodbye and rode home to their own estates. From where she sat, Lucretia watched him go out with his friends, then return, James, as ever, at his side. As the grooms came to take his young grey stallion and James’ black gelding, Sampson strode quickly to the house. James walked toward the garden.
Lucretia stood as he approached, and offered him a quick curtsey. James, smiling, bowed. “Greetings, Miss Brent,” he said. “How lovely you look this day with the sun on your hair.”
Lucretia blushed under his compliment. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“His Grace asked me to pass a message to you,” he said, glancing toward Henrietta, busy chasing butterflies. “He will send his sister into Tewksbury tomorrow afternoon, leaving you free to begin your lessons.”
Excitement fluttered in Lucretia’s belly, reminding her of the butterflies Henrietta pursued. “Did he say where, sir?”
“Yes. Beyond the first hill past the apple orchard. It is far enough away that the shots will not be remarked upon, even if they are heard. Many people walk out onto the hills to shoot game.”
“Of course.”
“I myself will accompany Lady Henrietta into the town,” he went on, watching the child. “I will make certain no harm comes to her.”
“I know you will not.”
James studied her under his bushy eyebrows, smiling a strange mysterious smile. “I wish to compliment you on your courage, Miss Brent. You have shown a remarkable amount of it.”
“Thank you again, sir,” she replied, “but it is not courage that makes me want to protect her. It is love.”
“Few enough own even that, my dear,” he said.
Strangely, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on its back. Shocked, Lucretia knew not what to do, even as he smiled at her over her hand. “I am merely showing my appreciation for you, Miss Brent,” he said. “You are a remarkable woman.”
“No, I truly am not,” she replied, uncertain. “I am just a lucky orphan.”
“We are lucky to have you with us.”
Giving her another short bow, James departed, leaving the garden the same way he entered. Sitting down, Lucretia watched Henrietta lie on the grass, getting the stuff on her dress and in her hair. At first impulse, Lucretia thought to tell her to get up and not get dirty. Then she relaxed, smiling a little, and let her enjoy being a little girl. And girls got dirty once in a while. Even if they were highborn ladies, and sisters to powerful dukes.
* * *
Watching Henrietta ride away in the carriage with James and two footmen, Lucretia felt strange. Since arriving here so many weeks ago, Henrietta had hardly been out of her sight. Now she was, on the road to Tewksbury, and soon to be a few miles away. But, she is safe. No harm can come to her with James at her side.
Walking through the orchard on her way to meet the Duke, she plucked a semi-ripe apple from a tree and nibbled on it. Its tart flavor sent her into puckering her mouth, and she tossed it away. The climb up the hill left her a little breathless in the late summer heat, perspiration trickling down her back under her bodice.
Cresting it, she found the Duke standing in the green field, the grass almost covering his knee high boots. He wore only a simple shirt under his waistcoat, and his black trousers had been tucked into his boots. He glanced up when he saw her, and lifted a hand for her to join him. It occurred to her that for the first time, she would truly be alone with him. Not alone in a room inside a house full of people, but alone with him with no one around to hear or see her. Or them.
Oddly, it was not fear or trepidation she felt upon thinking this. Lucretia called herself a wanton hussy when she realized she liked the idea of being completely alone with him. She contemplated how much she enjoyed his company, and liked looking at him—into his green eyes. Even as she walked down the hill, she eyed his strong masculinity, his trim hips. Even how his long legs fit snugly into his boots.
His Grace smiled as she approached, welcoming her with a gesture of his hand. She dipped low in a curtsey even as he spoke. “Is my sister safely off with James?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Excellent. We have a few hours to ourselves then.”
Why did that innocent comment make my knees grow weak? Lucretia inwardly scolded herself for being a weak-kneed fool, then edged closer to the Duke at his gesture.
“First,” he said, glancing at her to make certain he had her full attention. Which he did, but his nearness made it difficult for her to concentrate on his lesson. “This is a dragon,” he said. “It is a pistol much like my blunderbuss, but should be much easier to use in close quarters.”
He held it out for her to take. Lucretia hesitated, concerned that she might make a terrible mistake and shoot it into one of them. He grinned.
“It is not loaded,” he assured her. “Take it.”
Obeying him, Lucretia found it heavy and awkward, but she examined it closely. As he explained how it worked, he showed her how to load it, and tamp the powder down. He explained how to cock the hammer back before pulling the trigger. “Now raise it, and point it at that tree over there.”
Concentrating, her tongue caught in the corner of her mouth, Lucretia lifted the heavy pistol and aimed at the tree the Duke indicated.
“Now pull the trigger.”
She pulled the trigger.And then found herself falling onto her back, gazing at the sky.
Chapter 19
Sampson gazed down at Miss Brent in horror. “Miss Brent? Miss Brent, are you all right?”
Dropping to his knee beside her, he took the dragon from her hand and set it on the grass. She stared beyond him to the blue sky above, and he worried that somehow she had shot herself. But a quick examination showed no blood on her. “Miss Brent?”
“Your Grace?” Her voice, faint but clear, emerged from her lips. “Is that supposed to happen?”
Sitting back in the grass, Sampson began to laugh. The harder he tried to contain his laughter, the harder he laughed. Tears squirted from his eyes as
he gasped for breath, his ribs aching something fierce. “No,” he choked, forcing the words out, “no, Miss Brent, that’s not exactly how it’s supposed to work.”
She sat up carefully, examined herself for injuries that weren’t there. At her puzzled expression, Sampson could not prevent more snorts of laughter from escaping, yet she, too, found humor and laughed along with him. He tried to remember how long since he had laughed like that, and could not. The thought finally sobered him.
As Miss Brent wiped her own tears from her eyes, Sampson stood up, and held his hand down. “I fear that was my error, Miss Brent,” he said, helping her to stand. “I forgot how tiny you are. You must brace your feet in order for the kick to, er, not knock you down.”
“So that’s what happened, Your Grace?” she asked, turning those incredible eyes up to his. “It has a kick?”
Lord, how I do want to kiss her right now. Sampson stared down into those eyes, lost, mesmerized, almost unable to resist the urge to take her slender form into his arms and kiss her. Yet, he tore his gaze away, feeling slightly ashamed of himself. A gentleman does not take advantage of a lady.
“Your Grace?”
“Er, yes, Miss Brent,” he said, trying to get his tongue in order. “It has a kick worse than a cotter’s mule. Now, reload the dragon, and try again. This time brace yourself, and be ready.”
As Miss Brent raised the dragon, Sampson itched to place his hands on her waist to help her set her feet. Cursing inwardly at his desire to touch her, he clenched his fists and kept his voice steady with an effort. “Now, step back with your left leg, yes, that’s right. Fire whenever you’re ready.”
Miss Brent pulled the trigger. Its explosion rocked her backward and the kick forced her arms up, but she stayed on her feet. She turned to him, smiling broadly in her triumph.
“Did I do it right?”
Even if she failed to notice her lack of formal address, Sampson did not. Nor did it bother him. In fact, he wished fervently that protocol did not demand such between them. But the social order could not long be denied, and he was a Duke while she was a commoner. “Yes, Miss Brent, you did it right.”
Teaching her to hit what she aimed at required him to step in close to her, and gaze over her shoulder. The scent of her hair intoxicated him, her nearness set his nerve endings to dancing. It also required him to touch her arm, to raise or lower it in order to teach her. Miss Brent did not seem to mind his close proximity to her person, nor did she object when he gently took her wrist in his hand and help her aim. And when she fired the dragon, the kick sent her backward into his chest and arms.
“Oh! Your Grace, I am so sorry.”
Miss Brent whirled, her sun-fired hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes wide and horrified. He wished he could hold her in his arms rather than step back and smile at her abject apology. He wanted to run his fingers through her wealth of hair, tuck it tenderly behind her ear, then cup her cheeks in his hands and kiss her. Instead, he took a step back, smiling down at her.
“No apologies are necessary, Miss Brent,” he said, hoping his voice sounded steady. “It is part of teaching one to fire a dragon. Please, continue.”
As the lesson and afternoon wore on, he grew to like her more and more. He appreciated her sense of humor, her gritty nerve, and the way she looked when she smiled at him. When the sun hit her eyes just right . . . Surely I am not smitten with her? She learned quickly, and soon hit the tree more often than she missed.
“I believe that is enough for your first lesson, Miss Brent,” he said, taking the pistol from her. “Besides, I am out of shot and powder.”
“My arms have grown tired, Your Grace,” she admitted, smiling. “And I want to thank you for taking the trouble to teach me.”
As they walked side by side up the hill, Sampson shook his head. “No, I must thank you. For you are doing this to protect my sister. I will be eternally in your debt.”
Bending his knee, Sampson bowed fluidly to her, his hair in his face, his arm across his chest. Rising, he observed how the pink rose to her cheeks, marking both her pleasure and her embarrassment. He loved how beautiful blushing made her, how her teeth gleamed when she smiled. I think I am smitten.
“Please,” she whispered as though there were people around to hear her, glancing around. “You mustn’t.”
“I am a Duke on my property and I will bow to those I wish to bow to.”
Miss Brent actually laughed. “You are a proper rogue, Your Grace.”
Appalled at what she just said, Miss Brent stumbled over her tongue trying to apologize. This time Sampson laughed. “No apologies necessary, Miss Brent. I can be a rogue at times. My mother always said I was, anyway.”
“What was your mother like?”
As they walked once more up the hill, side by side, Sampson pondered her question, once again ignoring her lack of proper address. “She was a strong woman,” he said. “Held a dim view of fools, of course. I think she loved my father too much. For when he died, she could not cope with her grief. She fell ill.”
“Is there such a thing as too much love?” she asked.
Sampson glanced down at her, then at the green hills around them. “I am the last one to ask that question. I am not sure I know how to love.”
“Of course you do,” Miss Brent said, pausing in her strides. “You love Lady Henrietta, you loved your mother, and I would like to believe you loved your father. I certainly witnessed your love for your horse.”
Sampson stopped. “All true. But that is not the kind of love I am referring to.”
“That does not matter. We are all capable of powerful love, whether it be to family, or romantic love, or to a beloved mount, or hound. It is the same with a lover or a spouse. Just one is more – romantic.”
“If all that is true,” he asked, gazing across his vast lands, “then why do I feel cold and dead inside?”
Miss Brent stepped closer to him, gazing up into his eyes. “I do not sense that in you. Yes, you appeared cold and unloving when I first came here, but that was not you. That was your face you show a stranger. I see you as warm, loving, caring of your family as well as those who serve you. Someone who is dead inside does not feel such. Believe me, I know.”
Sampson swallowed hard, and tried a smile. “It appears you see much, Miss Brent.”
She shrugged her shoulders and started walking up the hill again. “Faw. I know what I have seen from living in an orphanage. It is a place of innocence while at the same time it is a place of incredible cruelty. It is usually death that brings children in. And the suffering I have seen –”
Catching up to her, Sampson wanted to take her in his arms. Yet, he felt he did not deserve it. “I am sorry for your past, Miss Brent.”
She cast a smile in his direction. “I am not. It made me the person I am, Your Grace. And it brought me here, am I correct?”
“That it did, Miss Brent.”
As they walked companionably through the orchard, a groom hurried across the lawn toward them. Sampson exchanged a concerned glance with Miss Brent after sighting his tense expression. Upon reaching them, the man bowed low.
“Is something wrong?” Sampson asked him.
“Yer steward done asked me ‘t find ye, Yer Grace,” he said. “Says he must speak with ye urgently, he does. And ye must bring Miss Brent, so he says.”
Chapter 20
Her insides churning with worry, Lucretia shot a quick glance at the Duke, who nodded, frowning, at the groom.
“Run ahead and tell my steward I am on my way and I will meet with him in my study.”
“Aye, Yer Grace.”
After another bow, the man turned and ran toward the house. Lucretia picked up her skirts to walk more quickly, the Duke at her side. Their light-hearted talk ceased, but Lucretia still felt the deep connection she had formed with him during the pistol lesson. How he treated and spoke to her as though she were his equal, the light touch of his hand on hers, the power of his body at her back. Des
pite the urgency of James’ message, she felt giddy again at the memory.
Once they returned to the house, they found nothing amiss, and Henrietta, Rosemary behind her, walking toward the garden. Lucretia gave the girl a curtsey even as she curtseyed to her brother.
“May I go to the garden, Sampson?” Henrietta asked. “Can Luce come with me?”
“Yes, you may go as long as Rosemary is with you,” His Grace replied. “But I fear I need your governess for a time. Did you enjoy your afternoon in Tewksbury?”
Henrietta smiled. “Yes, I did. James let me buy some sweet cakes.”
The Duke cupped her small face in his hand, smiling. “Most excellent. Run along now, and I will see you at supper.”
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